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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27414373">Celestial Rhymes Burning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/akirakurosawa/pseuds/akirakurosawa'>akirakurosawa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asgardian Magic (Marvel), Brainwashing, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Canon-Typical Violence, HYDRA can just die tbh, M/M, Mind Control, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Can't Stop Won't Stop, The Author Regrets Nothing, Torture, Up all night to get Bucky (Marvel), and i - Freeform, cap!bucky, fuck hydra, i took the less simple one, some relationships are deliberately left vague, tags and relationships will be added as the story unfolds, that hydra fucks with bcs theyre like the worst, two paths diverge on a train in austrian alps, watch me bring out the worst in me, ws!steve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:49:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27414373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/akirakurosawa/pseuds/akirakurosawa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1945, on a train in Austrian Alps, it's not James Barnes that falls to his presumed death. Steve Rogers does. The show, however must go on. Bucky takes up the shield, and the title of Captain America, but still crashes the Valkyrie and ends up frozen in the ice for 70 years. </p><p>In 2014, on a highway in DC, Winter Soldier asks: "Who the hell is Steve?" and the collar that his handlers use to control him starts burning his skin. Bucky Barnes is having the best and the worst weeks of his life simultaneously.</p><p>(OR: When put under extreme pressure, Bucky Barnes' mind bends. Steve Rogers', though; Steve Rogers' mind breaks. Some say a clean break is preferable to the alternative. Is it, though?)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov &amp; Sam Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Marvel Trumps Hate 2019</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Celestial Rhymes Burning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl/gifts">ZepysGirl</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This may be the thing I'm most proud to have accomplished in the past year. </p><p>Here is my submission for <a href="https://marveltrumpshate.tumblr.com/">Marvel Trumps Hate 2019</a>. It's an amazing charity event that I was honored and ecstatic to participate in. Check out their tumblr, and their collections here on AO3. The love and positivity of the whole thing has been a breath of fresh air, and a lovely thing to behold. </p><p>I have had the absolute joy to have my bidder in the auction be the most amazing, patient, creative and lovely <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl">ZepysGirl</a>. Thank you so much for bidding on my work, for being patient and understanding throughout this horrible year, and for brainstorming with me. You've been an amazing creative inspiration for me, and the way you understand these characters and motivations aligns so much with how much I see them, that for the first time since YKW, I've actually felt excited about Marvel generally and Stucky specifically. I'm legit moved halfway to tears writing this, and I can't wait for you to read the whole fic. I hope I live up to your expectations. It's been an honour and a privilege :) it's also been so much fucking FUN, which I have forgotten was possible for quite some time. So thank you. You're amazing all around, and I'm so glad I got the opportunity to meet you and collaborate with you on this. &lt;3 ^^</p><p>Finally, all my love, as always, as expected, as extremely unsurprising, goes to punk to my jerk, misery to my melodrama, my busy bee of a beautiful beta, best buddy to be beheld, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/GWH/pseuds/GWH">GWH</a>. I dragged you into this on a long summer night, and you pulled me into it right back, and you'll always be my BFF5EVA and I'll always love you like RLB. </p><p>The title of the fic and of the chapters all come from  Alan Ginsberg's "Understand That This Is A Dream". </p><p>Onwards, and unto the breach.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They are standing in the living room of the safe house, which is already small by its nature, but somehow, in the booming silence, the walls seem to shrink even further in. None of them are moving, nor speaking, and still the room seems full with questions and thoughts that ricochet off the walls almost like physical things. None of them dare speak; there is too much to be said, so they rather say nothing at all.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha tries to be stoic, but she is afraid. She would never admit it, because she admitted too many things involuntarily in this whole godforsaken fuckery that Project Insight had been, and for that, she will never forgive SHIELD. For that betrayal, she will never forgive Ni- <em>Director</em> <em>Fury</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha had worked her ass off to be as sincere in her opinions and loyalties as she could. Her baseline was fucked to hell, that was true, but she <em>tried</em>. She tried so hard, because of one thing she knew she had as her own. Not a thing, <em>shit</em>, a person. A person who saw something in her wild eyes that day, when she decided to stop running and just let herself be neutralized, and made the stupid executive decision not to actually shoot her. A dumbass person who took one look at her, dropped his stupid bow and asked her if she wanted some candy, shocking her so fucking much that she just nodded. A stupid, awful, trusting person that nodded back and gave her a fucking Hershey’s Kiss and turned off his comms and stuck by her side from that moment onward, no matter how much she tried to get him to walk away. And oh, did she try.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha had Clint, that idiot dumbass, who looked at her with his annoying, pretty, sad eyes and so much indulgence and affection in them, that the thought of betraying him even for a second made her feel uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p>For a woman who regularly choked people with her thighs and electrocuted them for fun, <em>uncomfortable</em> was an anathema, and an impossibility. For a double-triple--foreign-domestic-who’s-even-counting-anymore-turned agent who used every weapon in her arsenal indiscriminately to get information, <em>uncomfortable</em> was non-existent. For a woman whose identity was a product of her own whims, situational circumstances, and who the highest bidder was, <em>uncomfortable </em>was like <em>agony</em>, or <em>despair</em>, or <em>revulsion</em> for other people.</p><p> </p><p>It was the most Natasha could feel at any given point, so she let that feeling be her guide, and modeled herself and her beliefs to align just so, so she never felt <em>uncomfortable</em>.</p><p> </p><p>And she thought she had it, she really did. Fury trusted her; SHIELD trusted her; Clint smiled at her in approval every fucking time after a briefing, even the others who used to somehow still be surprised she hadn’t slaughtered them all and fucked off to the Motherland with the intel, the assholes, even they stopped sending her suspicious looks when they thought she couldn’t see them. They were pathetically stupid. Natasha always saw, and when she didn’t, <em>Clint </em>did.</p><p> </p><p>So when they dug up Captain America in 2011, she optimistically thought that maybe even the ultimate paragon of Virtue and Good, Steve Rogers, may trust her. She wouldn’t admit it, but she saw that as the ultimate test for her personal project dubbed both affectionately and condescendingly <em>Making Widow A Real Person</em> in her mind. She <em>wanted</em> Steve Rogers to like her, because if he did, then she succeeded. She would be Worthy, if only in that deprived, fucked-up corner of her psyche that nobody had access to.</p><p> </p><p>What a fucking ride it was, when instead of Old Man Rogers, when they opened the <em>Valkyrie</em>, they got Depressed Disaster Barnes instead.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha probably should have known then that Fury didn’t really trust her. She was informed about the whole “Oh, it wasn’t Rogers in the ice at all, surprise! He died on the train, you know, the one we said <em>Barnes </em>died on, so we had Barnes take up his whole Cap schtick so the people wouldn’t realize how badly we were losing to the fucking <em>Nazis</em>, and he crashed the Valkyrie like, two days after that, so it didn’t really matter because we got to keep the myth of Man’s Man Little Steve Rogers Who Hated Bullies And Wanted To Fight The Good Fight for, well, forever! Except we didn’t, so, surprise!” long after they defrosted him. She only found out after she got back from a convenient three-month undercover mission in fucking (REDACTED) with Clint, when Fury told them both to stay back after their briefing and explained the situation.</p><p> </p><p>She should have known she wasn’t trusted then. After all, <em>Maria </em>knew from the start.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha really should have known that, as usual, the thing she clung to was another fucking illusion, but the potency of her belief that she’s finally got it, <em>I’m finally a Real Girl, daddy!</em>, that she’s actually got the trust of the people she aligned herself with blinded her.</p><p> </p><p>Catch her being that stupid again, and she’ll give you the gun to shoot her with herself. She may even load it for you, with actual bullets.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha shakes her head from her musings, because the metaphorical ringing in her ears is becoming impossible to ignore. She resists covering them with her hands, because she is the Black Widow, an international spy and the best assassin in the world, and a little psychosomatic ringing is nothing compared to a bazooka going off ten yards from her position. Fucking (REDACTED), seriously.</p><p> </p><p>Sam stands next to her, and if the situation wasn’t too fucked up, she would’ve laughed at that incredulous half-frown that seems to be a permanent fixture on his face ever since she first met him, when she and James knocked on his door, bloody and bruised and looking like they had a full go with a fucking missile, which is coincidentally <em>exactly </em>what happened. When she looks at things that way, maybe the frown is understandable. Still funny, though. Clint would agree with her, if he were here.</p><p> </p><p>She won’t admit to missing him; Black Widow misses nobody and nothing. Black Widow has no attachments. And yet. And fucking yet. Maybe things would be easier if Clint were here, to make a funny face and roll his eyes at the dramatics and say the most inappropriate thing ever just as the tension skyrockets.</p><p> </p><p>It’s better that he isn’t here, she thinks. He would probably say something stupid and inappropriate to their, ah, <em>guest</em>, and then James would <em>definitely</em> punch him, and he just got his teeth reset and his new hearing aids, both of them courtesy of Stark Industries.</p><p> </p><p>… <em>and that</em> train of thought is a whole other shitfuckery of consequences and old files and assumed kills that she really, really needs to figure out, and figure out quickly, because she will be damned if she let James do it alone, or even worse - if SHIELD, or whatever’s left of it that isn’t floating in the Potomac, gets involved.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha understands in that moment that her loyalties have shifted. How curious. It’s not only Clint’s approval that she wis- <em>tolerates</em> now. Somehow, somewhere, James Buchanan “<em>My Friends Call Me Bucky Nat Come On</em>” Barnes has also become a person whose disapproval makes her uncomfortable.</p><p> </p><p><em>Боже мой</em>, she thinks to herself, <em>я идиот. Я полный идиот.</em></p><p> </p><p>She allows herself an eyeroll in mimicry of what Clint would do, and then winces, because pain shoots from her skull in all directions unexpectedly, even though she’s certain her concussion was getting better, and her arm shoots out and grabs Sam’s wrist. He winces and looks at her, the funny frown deepening on the contemplative side, and then disentangles himself, only to take her palm into his and squeeze.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha can deal with that. She can. She will deal with that, but later. Much, much later. She nods at Sam, unsure what her expression looks like, and turns to the main spectacle in the room - James Buchanan “<em>It’s Bucky Nat For Fuck’s Sake</em>” Barnes, commonly known as Captain America and honestly, the spectacle of every room he ever walks into.</p><p> </p><p>Except this time, it’s different. This time, he’s not the only one in the spotlight. This time, the face he is making isn’t something she can tease him about, because it’s <em>awful</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Next to her, <em>let’s call him</em> friend, Natasha thinks to herself, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes but <em>actually </em>Captain Fucking America, stands his-- well, Natasha doesn’t exactly know <em>his what</em>, although she could probably take a wild fucking guess and be right immediately, if James’ face is anything to go by. Natasha can’t even gloat that her assumptions were correct, because it would be akin to kicking a puppy, and no matter how much of a badass assassin you are, you just don’t do that. So she will reserve judgement on what the man is to James, but she knows without a doubt what he looks like.</p><p> </p><p>A wraith.</p><p> </p><p>He is objectively good looking, in that symmetrical, high cheekbones, big eyes, full lips, blond American kinda way, which is logical, because he was <em>engineered</em> for peak performance in every way. Natasha thinks his eyes would be a stunning shade of blue, if only they weren’t so fucking empty. She thinks his lips could be very kissable, if they weren’t set in an expressionless line. She thinks she has seen more life in marble statues than in this man, and suddenly her throat feels tight, on top of the pounding in her skull, and she doesn’t want to think about this anymore. Hell, she doesn’t want to <em>be </em>here anymore, but she knows she has to stay. She won’t leave her friend behind to deal with this alone, and by the devastation she reads off James, he will need her.</p><p> </p><p>This is why she doesn’t do emotions. They are stupid, and messy, and complicated, and they hurt worse than the handlers in Red Room do, and that is saying something. Fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck on a stick, and fuck Clint for getting that phrase stuck in her head ten fucking years ago. Just-- <em>Fuck.</em></p><p> </p><p>James is standing next to the man, and his expression is so raw, Natasha feels uncomfortable just looking at him, but she makes herself look and catalogue James’ feelings one by one. Confusion and incredulity are easy to read on the surface, but she digs deeper, and then wishes she didn’t. His mouth is downturned, but his jaw is obviously clenched too tightly. His arms are hanging limp at his sides, but his fists are clenched enough to make the metal one whir a bit. His eyes are the worst, though. They <em>burn</em> with intensity Natasha has never seen in James before the man next to him appeared and upended their lives, and they are alive with <em>happiness-pain-agony-sadness-hate-wrath-love</em> as he fixates on the newest addition to their dysfunctional group of traitors and soldiers and just all-around <em>disasters</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha stops fooling herself. She really wishes Clint were there with her as she holds Sam’s hand and looks at the fucking apparition.</p><p> </p><p>He looks like a wraith from the long-gone awful past; a ghost story to scare good little assassins all over the world first and make them doubt their competence second; a fairytale that always ends in a nightmare, as most Russian fables do, where the point of the fable is<em> Do not go searching for the things in the dark, because those things will </em>see <em>you and they </em>will <em>find you, and you won’t be able to hide, little spider, because they will devour you</em>; a relic of pure hell that was supposed to be eradicated in 1945 but somehow rained that same hell upon them five fucking days ago in DC.</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck me and fuck my life</em>, Natasha thinks to herself, and clutches Sam’s hand harder. He brushes her knuckles and says nothing, and she is suddenly so grateful she isn’t here alone, she returns the caress, to her mild surprise.</p><p> </p><p>Next to James stands the Winter Soldier, or as Natasha likes to call him in her head and will never call him out loud, her Biggest Fucking Nightmare Ever, which is, honestly, a flattering title, if one considers the objective horror that her life has been.</p><p> </p><p>Winter Soldier is, incidentally, also <em>Steven Grant Rogers,</em> the <em>actual OG Captain America,</em> and isn’t that just how everything in her life goes? Frying pans on one side and hellfires on the other. For fuck’s sake.</p><p> </p><p>The scar on her abdomen itches but she refuses to scratch it, because she fucking knows it’s just her mind playing tricks on her, and she refuses to show any weakness. There is already too much vulnerability going around, and she’s done. No more Miss Nice Nat. She is Black Widow, and that scar has long since been healed. <em>Get a grip</em>, she tells herself. <em>Get a grip on yourself right now. A concussion is not an excuse. This is too important for you to be off your game, Widow. You’ve dealt with worse</em>, she tells herself, except she really, really hadn’t?</p><p> </p><p>The thing is, and that’s the worst thing on the mountain pile of shitty things that somehow just keeps growing, but, the thing is, she tried so hard to find the Winter Soldier after Odessa. She probably tried too hard, even getting Clint to call in some of his favors in the Baltics, which he did with no questions and no expectations of reciprocation, <em>the idiot</em>, but she just hit dead-end after dead-end, stonewalling, missing reports, the whole shebang, but she knows she would’ve pushed further if Nic- <em>Director Fury</em> didn’t tell her to let it go.</p><p> </p><p>Fury told her it’s way above her paygrade, and that he’s looking into it, and that he can’t afford to have her distracted because of one measly failed mission. He couldn’t have her holding grudges about a ghost that may not even exist, and he told her she should focus and not let this <em>failure</em> demoralize her, and that she was still his best operative. So Natasha yielded, because she wanted Fury to trust her, but mostly because she didn’t want him to discern her true motivation.</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t going after the Winter Soldier just because she was embarrassed and angry that he outplayed her in skills, which she also was. Natasha could admit that, not a big deal, <em>see Clint, I’m trying</em>. But it wasn’t just that.</p><p> </p><p>Black Widow went after the Winter Soldier because she was <em>fascinated</em>. And she really didn’t want anyone to know about her actually having emotions, or cast further doubt on her already objectively dubious loyalties. She wanted nobody to know how she imagined meeting him, befriending him or maybe even seducing him and getting him to reveal all his secrets to her. How she imagined adding his expertise to her own arsenal and being the ultimate best. How she imagined, if the soft approaches failed, just fighting him and observing his movements during the fight and learning from him and <em>defeating </em>him, coming out bloody and bruised but <em>victorious</em>. Or - <em>and this she would never admit, ever, because it’s awful and it’s even sadder, Natasha knows this, but she can’t help herself</em> - or with an <em>equal</em> and a <em>comrade </em>that would respect her for everything she is.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha is pretty sure Clint guessed, although he never said anything, for which she was extremely thankful and also a bit miffed, because Black Widow is supposed to be inscrutable and unreadable to people, otherwise what’s the point? She could probably live with it if it was just Clint who knew her, but somehow, it wasn’t just Clint anymore. Somehow, her masks slipped enough that James could already read her, and she <em>didn’t even mind that much</em>. And now, seeing the object of her fascination standing brokenly in front of her apparently-friend, his face showing no emotion, and seeing James’ face fighting not to crumble completely, Natasha realized she was <em>ashamed</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She should have fought harder. She should have pushed more. She should have told Fury to go fuck himself, that she was the best person for the job, and she should have dived into the murky pit that was her clusterfuck of established Soviet identities and she should have dug deeper and found him earlier, because then maybe this whole thing could’ve been avoided, and she wouldn’t need to see <em>this</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Steve Rogers is standing in front of James with that unnaturally empty expression, holding some kind of metal in his hands and clearly offering it to James, who honestly looks one step away from suffering a complete mental breakdown. Rogers’ stance is impeccable, back straight, feet apart - a soldier waiting on orders, no hint of any personality to be seen anywhere.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha feels sick to her stomach, because she has a pretty good idea of what it took to remove any sense of self from a person, and Rogers was a <em>super-soldier</em> on top of that. <em>Fuck</em>, she thinks, just as James opens his mouth to speak.</p><p> </p><p>“Stevie,” he says, and his raspy voice turns pleading in the span of a syllable. “I don’t underst- Stevie, what-,” and <em>Oh,</em> she thinks with a curious detachment, <em>this is what heartbreak looks like</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Rogers does not acknowledge the words, still holding out the bracelet that James makes no move to accept, and as the light reflects off the metal in Rogers’ hand, Natasha’s brain short-circuits and she lets go of Sam’s hand because she sees what it is, and <em>fuck this complicates things </em>and also<em> fuck she needs to be more observant!</em></p><p> </p><p>“James,” she hears herself saying, keeping her voice intentionally low and level, even as her insides are frozen with terror, “I think I know what’s going on.”</p><p> </p><p>Both James and Sam turn to her in that moment, one bewildered, the other puzzled, but before James can even formulate a question, she puts her palm up to stop him.</p><p> </p><p>Their eyes meet then, and she almost takes a step back, because he has never, for all the years she has known him, been this easy to read. His eyes are hemorrhaging pain unabashedly, the usually-cold grey turned watery, and she suddenly can’t stand the thought of him crying. His face is pinched, and his breaths are short, and his metal arm is still whirring. He looks haunted, and lost, and broken, and she knows then she will do everything she can to make this easier on him.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha Romanoff knows how to use words, and she chooses these next ones carefully, because she knows instinctively that this is a turning point of some kind.</p><p> </p><p>“Bucky,” she says, for the first time ever, because Natasha finally understands that this right here is the actual first time she sees <em>Bucky</em>, and his eyes widen as he steals a glance at Rogers. His shoulders deflate when he realizes Rogers didn’t react to the name at all, and she knows she needs to do something quick.</p><p> </p><p>“Bucky,” she repeats, “let me try to talk to him.”</p><p> </p><p>She feels Sam move next to her, no doubt to protest, in that annoyingly reasonable way he has, but he was the one who joined them on a mission to dismantle an international spy organization after knowing Barnes for like a week, so he has no legs to stand on, and now is not the time for a debate. They don’t know how much time they have, or what’s going on in Rogers’ head, or even if he will want to continue his mission of making all three of them very much dead. She waves her hand sharply at his direction in a “desist” movement without taking her eyes off of Bucky, and after a second, Natasha feels him subside.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky, and <em>Oh God how had she not seen this before?</em>, Bucky Barnes is standing in front of her and his face is a grotesque of too much emotion, and as he stares into her eyes she is reminded of Clint suddenly; of that moment when he looked at her and started to ask <em>Tasha, how many agents-</em> and she couldn’t take it, because it was <em>not his fault</em>, because that was so much bigger than them, that was the world dealing him a shitty, uncalled-for, unfair card and <em>he didn’t deserve that</em>, and she decided then to do everything to make him understand that he deserved <em>better</em>, that he deserved <em>everything</em>, even if she had to single-handedly fight a fucking Norse God to make Clint see how it wasn’t <em>fair</em>, and it <em>wasn’t his fault</em> and when she blinked it wasn’t Clint’s stormy ocean eyes she sees but Bucky’s usually stony grey ones that look like the crumbling of the universe and <em>Oh,</em> she thinks,<em> I understand now.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Trust me,” Natasha says, and wants to turn away, because <em>What if he doesn’t?</em> and <em>Why would he?</em>, but Bucky doesn’t even hesitate for a fucking second as he nods and trusts her to take care of the most important thing, no, <em>person</em>, of his universe, and Natasha is stunned because he didn’t even need to think on it and she feels <em>elated </em>and <em>powerful </em>and <em>humble</em> because for him, apparently, it was just <em>that easy to trust the Black Widow, a traitor three times over, an assassin and not actually a Real Person </em>and she is floored but this isn’t the time for her mountain of issues to crumble, because she needs to keep that trust and to justify it and never to lose it, so after a second Natasha nods and braces herself for what she needs to confirm.</p><p> </p><p><em>Боже мой</em>, she thinks.<em> Please don’t let this be what I think it is, пожалуйста!</em></p><p> </p><p>Natasha knows Rogers speaks Russian; she heard him giving orders to HYDRA goons on the bridge, so she pulls herself together as she turns to the still immovable Soldier, whose arm is still extended towards James.</p><p> </p><p>“Солдат,” Natasha says, and the Soldier - <em>no, Rogers, no, fuck, Soldier, he has to be Soldier now, if she is to get any answers from him</em>, she thinks, and realizes she is much more shaken than she thought. She decides to dissociate then and there, because she needs to know if she’s right. She needs to know if her theory is right, and more importantly - Bucky needs to know.</p><p> </p><p>“Солдат,” the Black Widow straightens, putting her gravity centre lower, as she wills her voice not to tremble, because she is speaking to The Winter Soldier, and she is a little bit in awe, but also a little bit scared, and she knows she can not, at any cost, show any of it. “Что это у тебя в руке?”</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier doesn’t answer, but he does turn to face her directly now. He doesn’t loosen his stance, his muscles as stiff as hers, and those cold, blue, <em>dead</em> eyes look at her, and she can almost see him assessing her. The Widow’s spine is immovable steel, and her eyes are inscrutable; she knows this, believes this, because she is the Widow, and she doesn’t relax even a muscle as he accepts her as an authority and lowers the hand with the metal.</p><p> </p><p>“Солдат, что у тебя в руке?,” she repeats the question, making her voice harder, dipping into the hated memories of her handlers.</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier still doesn’t answer. The Black Widow burrows deeper into her own box of memories stamped with a hammer and a sickle, which will be such fun to deal with later, but she’ll do this for Jam-- for <em>Bucky</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Солдат, доклад миссии!,” the Widow orders, and the Winter Soldier assumes a rigid military stance.</p><p> </p><p>“Солдат, ты готов отвечать?,” the Widow asks, and the Winter Soldier complies.</p><p> </p><p>“Я готов подчиняться,” the Winter Soldier says as wall of blue meets her gaze, and the Widow hears a muffled sob that gets cut off quickly, but she refuses to acknowledge it. She’s on a mission, and she needs to proceed, because they all need to know the intel the Soldier has.</p><p> </p><p>“Хорошо,” the Widow assesses the Soldier, but his eyes are empty, and she knows from first-hand experience there is nobody hiding behind those eyes, and Natasha wants to scream, but the Widow continues. “Солдат, отчет о миссии.”</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier blinks; Natasha’s heart skips a beat; the Widow waits.</p><p> </p><p>“Солдат, отчет о миссии,” she repeats. The Soldier blinks again, and if she’d blinked, she would’ve missed the twitch of his eyebrow - <em>confusion. </em>The Soldier blinks again, and speaks.</p><p> </p><p>“Какой отчет о миссии?” His voice is devoid of any inflections, but Natasha would smile if it wasn’t mission-crucial that she doesn’t, because a favorite saying of her handlers that is currently looping around her head was<em> У оружия нет мнений, желаний или вопросов</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Roughly translated, it meant <em>Weapons do not have opinions, or wants, or questions</em>, and the Winter Soldier just <em>asked her a question</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Отчет о твоей последней миссии,” the Widow clarifies. “Какая была твоя последняя миссия, и каковы твои следующие цели?,” Natasha can’t help but ask, and she almost backtracks, thinking it was too much too fast, but the Soldier nods and starts speaking.</p><p> </p><p>It takes two sentences for Natasha to wish he didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha Romanoff (codename: Black Widow), stands in a room in a safe house in (REDACTED) with Sam Wilson (codename: Falcon) and Bucky Barnes (codename: Captain America), and listens to Steven Rogers (codename: Winter Soldier; former codename: Captain America) give an account of his last mission for HYDRA in flawless Russian.</p><p> </p><p>She is the only one who understands him, and she thinks it’s a blessing that James has only a rudimentary understanding of Russian because otherwise she would have to knock him out to prevent him from committing to an imminent, and, in Natasha’s humble opinion, an overall utterly deserved mass murder spree; but also a curse, because she would have to be the one to translate and summarize everything she was hearing.</p><p> </p><p>As the Soldier speaks, she listens carefully, and soon, Natasha knows it’s not her wishful thinking. She is not wrong; she knows brainwashed, and she knows empty, and she knows <em>unmade</em>, and the Winter Soldier is definitely all those things, but that’s not all that he is.</p><p> </p><p>The Black Widow listens to the mission report and notes different things; the pronunciation of sharp vowels; the inflections in declensions; the positions of prepositions; the stressed syllables and the “E”’s and the “P”’s and the names of his American handlers. Natasha Romanoff notes how the Soldier is hyperaware of everyone in the room, but also how, every time Barnes moves, the Soldier’s eyes flicker towards his right just a little bit, completely involuntarily.</p><p> </p><p>The Widow asks for clarification of a point. The Soldier answers without a hitch.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha decides to take a risk, and asks for his opinion, framing it as an inquiry. The Soldier blinks, his eyes flitting to Barnes with inhuman speed, and answers.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha Romanoff decides then that she would bet her professional career on the fact that Steven Rogers is still <em>present</em>. Not completely, not really, and probably not permanently, but he is, decidedly, <em>there</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier speaks, and the Widow listens, and Barnes and Wilson are quiet and restless. She listens, and inside she thinks she is angry, and horrified, and troubled, and she knows she is definitely fucking <em>uncomfortable</em>, but her face betrays nothing. She listens, and she understands, and she knows that whatever happens next will be the most difficult thing she does this week, and she survived a missile strike and toppled over an international spy agency, which makes this just- <em>fuck</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier stops speaking, and the Widow nods. She doesn’t take her eyes off of him, because she is not stupid; he is still a threat, and she can’t predict how this long, structured report may have impacted his broken psyche, but as she palms her Widow Bites Natasha decides to try her luck one more time.</p><p> </p><p><em>Clint would be proud of my stupidity</em>, she thinks,<em> he’d probably call it sentimentality, and then I’d have to kick him and break a limb</em>, and she asks the Winter Soldier “Что ты хочешь?”</p><p> </p><p>They kept the eye-contact the whole time they were speaking, those dead eyes unnerving and saddening her in equal measure. Natasha doesn’t break the staring contest; the Soldier does, which is almost enough to throw her off her game. He cocks his head a little bit, assessing, analyzing, always, always calculating, and she thinks <em>We could be friends</em>, and she thinks, <em>Bucky, you have very good taste</em>, and she thinks <em>I hope you both survive this</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It is the Winter Soldier that turns towards Barnes, who startles and then looks at him with the most disgusting, most heartbreaking pair of hopeful puppy-eyes she’d seen since Clint, but she knows, she is more certain of this than she is of her own identity, she would bet her career and her accomplishments and can feel it in whatever is left functional of her metaphorical heart that it is Steve Rogers who answers.</p><p> </p><p>“Я,” he says, and his eyes are firmly on Bucky, “я хочу - его.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>James Buchanan Barnes thought he was going to die many times in his too-long life.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being seven years old in Brooklyn and being sick; his mother wiping his forehead while he shook with fever and murmuring platitudes and then leaving to check on his sick sisters; hearing Stevie’s voice and begging him to leave because he couldn’t, wouldn’t live if he caused Stevie to become sick too.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being twelve years old in the Bronx and trying to avoid being crushed beneath a mass of people screaming and running from a thunderstorm that hit unexpectedly; he remembers holding Stevie beneath his body and thinking that it didn’t matter if he died, as long as Stevie lived.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being eighteen in Harlem and pushing through the crowd to get to Steve; avoiding being trampled or shot or hit and praying to the God he didn’t even believe in to find Steve alive, and well, and preferably not arrested, but he’d deal with another arrest if only Steve was alright.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being twenty-one in Brooklyn and clutching his best friend’s hand as Steve fought through another wave of coughing due to tuberculosis; praying to the God he made himself believe in not to take Steve away, not to allow him to follow his mother into the grave, because he knew he wouldn’t want to live in a world where Steve didn’t exist.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being twenty-five somewhere in the Atlantic on a boat caught in a storm; praying to the God he may even believe in to please let Steve live and please don’t let him be accepted into the Army; Bucky already enlisted for the fool’s endeavor, and was willing to die fighting this stupid war if it meant Steve was home, and safe, and alive.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being twenty-six somewhere in Europe; captured with his unit and tied to a table he volunteered for, to spare his men the torture; praying to the universe to let him die, just him, and nobody else, and to spare Steve, and to guard him, and to keep him safe and out of trouble when Bucky isn’t around to do it anymore.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being twenty-six on a train rushing through the Austrian Alps with Steve right beside him, but bigger, and stronger, and fixed; he remembers hanging off a train cart, Steve’s beautiful face above him and an abyss below him, and thinking <em>As long as he stays alive, I don’t mind dying, not for a moment.</em></p><p> </p><p>He remembers being twenty-seven in London on his birthday; twenty-seven and heartbroken; twenty-seven and not even drunk because he was an enhanced not-really-human-anymore; he remembers actually wishing to die for the first time in his life, because what is a life even worth when Steve isn’t there anymore? What does it even matter, when his reason for living was gone; lost; dead?</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being twenty-seven and on his way to what used to be home, to New York in the <em>Valkyrie</em>, wearing Steve’s uniform; he remembers clutching his tags and speaking to Peggy, extracting from her a promise to <em>keep looking</em>; he remembers holding the one picture that he had of Steve and folding it into the whisky flask he emptied and sealing it so it doesn’t get destroyed by the imminent impact with water; he remembers thinking <em>I am coming to you</em> and <em>This is the end of the line</em> and <em>Wait for me, Stevie</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being twenty-eight and ninety-five in Germany and fighting a God, though it wasn’t the one he refused to believe in and actually wanted to fight; he remembers being twenty-eight and ninety-five in New York and fighting aliens in a world where Steve was dead; he remembers fighting alongside a Norse God, a terrifying assassin, the World’s Greatest Marksman, an angry Green Giant, and a man who was a son of a friend in a flying metal suit, and thinking <em>Stevie, if I die today, I have so much to tell you</em> and <em>I wish you were here</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers being thirty and ninety-seven in Washington DC and Steve; Steve’s eyes, Steve’s lips, Steve’s face; he remembers dropping the shield that wasn’t his anyways and thinking <em>If I have to die, I don’t mind, because I got to see you again </em>and <em>I won’t fight you</em> and <em>I am with you ‘till the end of the line, even if you destroy the line yourself</em> and falling into the Potomac happy, because Steve was somehow <em>alive</em>, and that was the only thing that mattered to Bucky since 1921.</p><p> </p><p>James Buchanan Barnes thought he was going to die many times in his life, but he somehow never did. Somehow, everyone around him managed to die, and he, in a true manner of a Brooklyn cockroach, always managed to stay alive, against the worst of odds.</p><p> </p><p>James Buchanan Barnes didn’t believe in god, having been disappointed by him many times in his life. He didn’t believe in god, because how could there be a god in a world where his best friend, the other part of his soul, the most important person in his life was dead?</p><p> </p><p>James Buchanan Barnes somehow survived poverty, and sickness, and a war, and seventy years entombed in ice, and an alien invasion on top of all that, and he finally knows the reason why.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky Barnes stands in a room, seventy years in the future, and somehow, against all the fucking odds in this world, he is once again looking at <em>Stevie</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Steve, who is standing five feet away from him and talking in fluid Russian - no, not talking, giving a<em> mission report</em> in flawless Russian to Nat, who is stone-faced and completely focused on what Steve is saying, but Bucky thinks he knows her enough to read the thoroughly concealed anger and something else, something too powerful to be shown, in the curve of her lips and the periodical blinking.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he’s just fooling himself, though. He doesn’t feel -- all there, because. Because, holy fucking Gods, because <em>Steve </em>is standing right here, he’s talking, and he’s alive, he’s fucking alive, and Bucky can’t think, he can’t -- he just <em>can’t</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Steve looks awful. He looks like-- like something from a nightmare. His tactical gear is ripped in places, and Bucky can see holes from bullet wounds in the fabric, but no actual blood. He’s wearing a tattered, dirty, grey hoodie, zipped up to his neck. His hands are wrapped in fingerless gloves, and Bucky notes his dirty nails, bitten to the blood. His hair is longer than it ever was, and dirty, smeared in dust and mud and blood, so much that his dark blond shade of hair is unrecognizable, unless one knows what to look for. And Bucky <em>knows</em>. God does he know.</p><p> </p><p><em>I know you better than I know myself,</em> Bucky thinks. <em>I know you better than you know yourself,</em> the thought escapes him, and he tries hard not to give in and just scream.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes are sunken, dark purple circles still visible underneath the remnants of smeared black paint, and Bucky wonders when was the last time Steve had a shower, and then feels as if that train of thought can only take him further away into insanity, so he just continues watching.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky wants to laugh and cry both, because isn’t that how it’s always been? Hadn’t he been watching Steve ever since they met, two snot-nosed kids in Brooklyn, in a random alley somewhere halfway between where they lived, because it wasn’t home, not yet. Brooklyn might have been, but <em>home</em>, for Bucky, has always been synonymous with <em>Steve</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky Barnes spent his whole life looking at Steve Rogers. Whether it was looking for him in back alleys to break up yet another fight Steve got himself into for defending someone usually bigger than him and looking at him sternly to disguise his own worry, or looking for his bed in the hospital to sit beside him and pray to anyone and anything Steve survives the newest bout of illness and then looking at him with his eyes wet when he slept, his body shaking with coughs and fever, or looking for Steve in dim bars when they went on their “double dates” to see if he’s having at least some fun and looking at him smiling while he talked to some nameless girl, or looking for him on the battlefields of Europe amongst the fallen bodies and then looking at him as he directed the troops; Bucky Barnes always knew he would spend his life looking for, and at, Steve Rogers.</p><p> </p><p>And then he didn’t, because he <em>couldn’t</em>, because he was supposed to die, just like Steve died, except he didn’t, not really. And others were supposed to look for Steve’s body at least, and they did, but they found nothing, and Bucky was supposed to die, but he didn’t, and now neither he nor Steve are dead and Bucky is looking at Steve again and he thinks he may truly die this time if he has to stop looking at him ever again.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky feels a hand touching his flesh one and he knows it’s Sam, Sam who moved closer to him and is now offering his support without disturbing the conversation Nat and Steve<em>, oh god, Steve</em> are having. Bucky stays still, not saying anything, but not moving away. It’ll have to be enough.</p><p> </p><p>His world’s been turned upside down a week ago, and he should feel disturbed by that, but he doesn’t. Yes, everything is in turmoil, and yes, they toppled one government agency and probably shook and destabilized a dozen more, but for the first time since he woke up, the world tilts on its axis and it tilts <em>right</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>I’m so fucked</em>, he thinks as Steve suddenly turns directly to him and says something in Russian that Bucky may even understand, if he wasn’t so happy to concentrate on just drinking Steve in with his eyes. His heart feels like it’s gonna burst out of his chest, and he knows he probably looks pathetic and his every fucking emotion is written on his face, but he doesn’t care at all. He isn’t gonna hide from it, nor is he gonna hide <em>himself </em>from Sam and Nat. There’s no point, when his heart is dripping blood for all to see.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky is tired, and heartbroken, and incredulous, and hopeful, and he’s just been delivered a miracle, and everything is shit and awful and complicated, but Steve is here, where Bucky can look at him and maybe even touch him to check that he’s real, and he just doesn’t care anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha says something to Steve, who nods after a moment, and then Steve crosses the room to sit on the armchair by the fire. Bucky’s breathing stutters, and Sam tightens his grip on Bucky’s hand, which is probably the only thing stopping Bucky from either collapsing on the floor or running to Steve and collapsing on him.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck. He can’t. He knows he can’t, but he wants to, he wants to so much, but he can’t.</p><p> </p><p>“James,” Nat says, and he turns to her, and <em>shit.</em></p><p> </p><p>It’s the Widow face that greets him, but the eyes are pure Nat, and Nat is… pissed. And sad. And Bucky knows that whatever she’s going to say will be shit.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me,” he croaks, and Sam moves closer to him, their shoulders touching. His metal hand is whirring, but he knows whatever Nat found out, he’ll bear it.</p><p> </p><p><em>I’d bear another seventy years in the ice if it meant Steve was here when I woke up,</em> he thinks.<em> I’d burn the world down again if it meant I’d get to keep him. I’d throw myself off that fucking train if it meant that Stevie was safe.</em></p><p> </p><p>“It is complicated,” the Widow says coldly, but then she blinks, and she shifts in place, and when she looks at Bucky, it’s <em>Nat</em>, and Bucky thinks he may love her a little bit for understanding him and discomforting herself for his sake. “It’s more complicated than I thought, but not by much. I think we should all sit,” she says and looks at Sam, who just nods and steers Bucky with his hand towards the couch on the opposite side of where Steve is sitting, motionless and unyielding as a shadow.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky sits without taking his eyes off Steve, and Sam sits next to him, and Nat hesitates for a moment, and then folds herself in the other armchair by the fire, keeping all of them and the door in her line of sight. That’s probably a good idea, but Bucky wouldn’t move for the world, except to maybe get closer to Steve.</p><p> </p><p>As if sensing this impulse, Sam moves deliberately slowly and presses his side into Bucky, effectively blocking Bucky from moving unless he wants to throw Sam off. Which he really doesn’t, because even though Bucky is an asshole, this is <em>Sam</em>, and hurting Sam would be like-- like kicking a puppy or something. <em>Nobody should ever hurt Sam, Sam is awesome</em>, Bucky thinks, and then he wants to groan because <em>great, I’m dissociating now.</em> Bucky gives Sam a side-eyed look, but Sam’s not looking at Bucky. His eyes are flitting between Steve and Natasha, and his face is scrunched up in a manner Bucky knows he’s thinking deeply about something.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me,” Bucky says, because he can’t take the tension anymore. Steve doesn’t move. Natasha inhales, then exhales, and meets his eyes. The blankness in them, Bucky knows, is a deliberate choice, made not for him, but for <em>her</em>, and Bucky, who has been on the verge of crying since they first came in from a grocery run and saw Steve standing in the middle of their safehouse like it wasn’t a quadruple secured location that only Nat knew about, knows that he will probably break, and break soon.</p><p> </p><p>“Since the World War I there were multiple attempts to engineer a ‘Super Soldier’ by basically any country that had at least enough military power to be involved in the Great War, which means Americans, Germans and Soviets were unofficially racing each other while utilizing all available resources, by which I mean they stole scientists and data both from any country close to them that was working on a ‘Super Soldier’ project in any capacity,” Natasha starts, and Bucky is just about to open his mouth and tell her they don’t need a fucking history lesson when Sam catches his hand and squeezes <em>hard</em>. Bucky startles, but Sam just leans his head briefly in the direction of-- Oh. <em>Steve</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Steve, who is sitting rigidly in his armchair, a picture of a mindless soldier <em>and oh fuck that hurts</em>, the only thing betraying his interest in the proceedings his eyes, which are fixed impassively, but firmly on Natasha.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky shuts his mouth abruptly, clenching his teeth, and wills himself not to interrupt even if Nat wants to recount the past hundred years of history day by fucking awful day.</p><p> </p><p>“It was a long project with many failures on every side, as the leading countries tried to gain supremacy in the military field, and the only successful attempt was thought to be done during World War II by the Americans,” Nat says, and Bucky really wants to punch something. “In 1930’s, a young scientist in not quite yet Nazi Germany named Abraham Erskine developed what he called a ‘Super Soldier Serum’, a chemical formula that could be used to enhance a human body and mind and turn ordinary soldiers into superhumans.”</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor Erskine was forced to give the early version of the serum to a Nazi leader Johann Schmidt, who was also the head of a paramilitary organization whose views aligned with Hitler’s <em>Nationalsozialistische Partei</em>, but were more focused on the magical and the occult,” Natasha’s voice is brimming with disgust. “They were, and are regretfully still, called HYDRA. You may know them as your former employers.”</p><p> </p><p>“Masters,” comes the word, and Bucky swivels towards Steve so hard, his neck gives a painful twinge. Steve’s voice is devoid of inflection, but the word was spoken in English, and Bucky almost feels giddy until the meaning resonates within him, at which point he sees and hears nothing; he sees only red and he hears only the rushing, roaring tide in his ears.</p><p> </p><p>His metal arm recalibrates on its own, attached to his brain as it is, too loud in silence left by Steve’s correction, and they all tense up. Bucky can’t think, he can’t breathe, because <em>what the fuck, what the fuck, I will kill them all, one by one, with my fucking bare hands, I will burn them alive ‘till there’s not even ash left of them, the fucking monsters--</em></p><p> </p><p>“Bucky!” Sam shouts, and Bucky blinks. “Calm the fuck down, man, or I’ll sit on you,” he says, the first thing he actually said since they opened the door to the safe house, and Bucky realizes he’s halfway to standing up, Sam is holding onto his flesh hand as if it’s a lifeline, Natasha is perfectly motionless in her chair but he knows she has a Widow Bite to throw at his metal arm if she deems it necessary, and Steve is-</p><p> </p><p>- sitting in his chair and looking at Bucky with a look, <em>oh fuck, oh fucking hell, oh no</em> - with a look that screams<em> Awaiting Punishment</em>, and this is the thing that stops Bucky in the middle of movement and makes him sit down and take a deep breath through his rattled ribcage because everything is so fucking fucked up and he just <em>can’t, </em>because he doesn’t know <em>how</em>, or <em>what</em>, and especially <em>why</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m good,” he lies, unable to look at anything except his hands shaking in front of him. “Go on.”</p><p> </p><p>It takes a moment, but Nat continues as if nothing happened.</p><p> </p><p>“Doctor Erskine finally managed to escape the Nazis and come to America, where he started working on perfecting his serum in bio-tech ‘Project Rebirth’ with an organization called Strategic Scientific Reserve, which eventually become today’s S.H.I.E.L.D,” and here Nat smiles meanly, “or at least whatever is left from it that we didn’t sink to the bottom of the Potomac and put on the internet for the world to see oh, about a week ago. I hope you remember,” she says, and oh she is <em>brilliant</em>, “since you helped us quite a bit there.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha pauses, but she doesn’t expect a response like Bucky does, with all of his fucking stupid heart, so when no response comes, she plays it off as if she was gathering her thoughts. Bucky still can’t take his eyes away from his hands, because if he does…</p><p> </p><p>“‘Project Rebirth’ was the only successful creation of a ‘Super soldier’, when Howard Stark and Abraham Erskine joined forces and combined Stark’s Vita-Ray machine to stabilize the effects of Erskine’s serum. To our knowledge, this is the only time in history that a perfect version of serum was used in creation of a super soldier, although knock-off versions have been used by America, Russia, Germany, Norway, South Africa and Japan in the following century, and these are only the ones we have definite confirmation of.” Bucky didn’t know about Norway, but he isn’t really surprised. He concentrates on breathing and the feel of Sam’s hand on his.</p><p> </p><p>“The soldier who volunteered would go on to become the first confirmed super-human, and to fight both Nazi Germany and HYDRA indiscriminately throughout the World War II, right until his presumed death in 1945,” she says, and Bucky feels hysteria threatening to overwhelm him.</p><p> </p><p>“The name of the soldier who volunteered for the Project Rebirth was Steve Rogers,” Natasha says, and Bucky can’t help himself - he raises his head and looks at Steve.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes are alight with fire from the fireplace and he is looking at Bucky, those blue eyes that he missed like he missed his stupid real arm, those eyes he loves so fucking much muddled with confusion and fear and something else, something awful, but Bucky will take anything over the emptiness from before.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, who is he kidding? He’ll take anything Steve Rogers gives him, <em>period</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“You called me that,” Steve murmurs. “You called me that,” he repeats, confusion evident in his voice. His hands clench, almost as if involuntarily, and Natasha shifts in her chair a bit. “On the bridge,” he says, “and I knew you,” he says, and he pronounces it in a pure Brooklyn accent that leaves Bucky feeling <em>wrecked</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, pal,” Bucky says, and he knows his voice is too emotional and too thick. “Yeah, you always knew me, Stevie,” and it’s too much, he can’t-</p><p> </p><p>“What happened to Steve Rogers?” <em>Steve Fucking Rogers</em> asks, and Bucky’s gonna die right this moment because what a fucking mindfuck, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe-</p><p> </p><p>“He fell off a train in Italy,” Natasha cuts in as Bucky realizes Sam is murmuring “In and out, Bucky, in and out, that’s good,” his breathing obvious and obnoxious, expecting Bucky to follow his lead. He still catches Nat’s manipulation, which pays off this time.</p><p> </p><p>“Austria,” Steve says quickly, and then flinches. When no repercussion comes, he frowns, and Bucky will probably die of a heart attack real soon, because that’s the same stupid frown he spent twenty years of his life staring at and memorizing and laughing at. <em>It’s pronounced ‘coventionEER’, not ‘conventionR’, you heathen</em> and <em>Becca’s birthday is on August 12th, not 13th, Buck</em> and <em>No, I will not stop applying Buck, you know why I gotta</em> and always that little frown of his lips that Bucky thought he will never get to see again.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Nat says. “Sorry. Captain Steve Rogers, who was also known as Captain America, fell off the train in Austria and was presumed dead when no body was found during many searches that SSR and Stark Industries conducted in the following years. The public, however, didn’t know this.”</p><p> </p><p>“In and out Bucky, c’mon,” Sam is still murmuring, and Bucky is trying, but his heart is beating the fucking Ride of the Valkyries or something, and he’s barely holding on.</p><p> </p><p>“Rogers’ best friend and second-in-command, Sergeant James Barnes, was captured by HYDRA and given the knock-off version of the serum in 1943,” and he thinks <em>Isn’t that a nice understatement</em>, “so when Captain Rogers died, the SSR decided not to demoralize the public when they were so close to the end of the war, so they decided that Sergeant Barnes would be the one to take up the mantle of Captain America, one of the most important symbols of Allied Resistance to the Nazi regime.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha pauses here and looks at Bucky, but he doesn’t know what she wants from him because it’s taking all of his superpowered mental faculties to concentrate on fucking <em>breathing</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“However, Johann Schmidt, then already known as Red Skull, was going to launch nuclear weapons on New York City. Sergeant Barnes managed to stop him but was lost when he crashed the plane with the bombs into the Arctic.” Natasha gestures to Bucky. “However, since he was injected with the super serum, he survived being trapped in the ice for around seventy years, until he was finally found and defrosted by SHIELD in 2011.”</p><p> </p><p>Steve keeps looking at Bucky, and Bucky, in a fit of idiocy, waves at him. “One iced super-soldier, almost mint condition, minus an arm,” he says as his metal arm recalibrates. Steve says nothing, only cocks his head, his brows furrowed. “It got stuck under a console under the ice and was completely mangled, so they had to amputate it. They gave me a new one, though, and it’s pretty cool,” he says, trying not to think on how fucking weird this whole situation is and breathing slowly in tandem with Sam.</p><p> </p><p>“Роботы в будущем,” Steve says. Bucky’s heart skips a beat because that much Russian he fucking knows, and Steve frowns. <em>Can he hear my fucking heartbeat</em>, Bucky thinks, but says, “Still no flying cars, pal,” and begs the universe for another sign of recognition. It doesn’t come.</p><p> </p><p>“Remind me to tell you about Lola,” Natasha smiles her wicked Widow smile. “So, it’s 2011 and the public knows when the actual Captain America died, and they know that James is the one who replaced him-”</p><p> </p><p>“There was no replacing him,” Bucky interrupts her. He needs to say this, needs to say this to Steve, to make him see, to make him understand. “There was no replacing Steve Rogers. He was- is,” he corrects himself, because he is staring at the man himself and will be damned if he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Steve is the best man I’ve ever known,” he says, and Sam squeezes his arm, and Bucky can’t look at Steve suddenly, so he drops his gaze. “He is the best man I’ve ever known, and nobody could ever replace him.”</p><p> </p><p>The silence is oppressive this time, but Bucky doesn’t care. He knows Nat is gearing herself for giving them more information about Steve, and he knows all of this is impossible, and he knows the only thing keeping him from having a total mental breakdown is the steady pressure of Sam’s hand on his arm, and he knows he will have to go and punch something really hard, and really soon, but Bucky doesn’t care.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he speaks to the ground. “Go on, Nat.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, Captain Rogers fell off the train and was presumed dead,” she continues, and all Bucky can think of is <em>cold </em>and <em>white </em>and <em>rebounding echoes of screams</em> and <em>train speeding away</em> and <em>a shield in his hand</em>. “SSR mounted search missions, and Stark Industries even financed some of their own, but they were mostly focused on searching the Atlantic for who they thought was the original Captain America.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky fights the urge to snort. He has many unresolved feelings about Howard Stark and his decision to focus on searching the ice, not because of Bucky, but for the fucking <em>Tesseract</em>. He also has <em>thoughts</em> about his parenting. All those thoughts gotta wait, though.</p><p> </p><p>“From what I’ve managed to decipher from intel I got from both SHIELD’s and my own sources, and from the conversation with - what do you want to be called?” She turns to Steve suddenly. He doesn’t flinch, but his arms flex for a moment. His face doesn’t move.</p><p> </p><p><em>Please, please, Steve, please, come back to me</em>, Bucky thinks.</p><p> </p><p>“Soldier,” Steve says.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s metal arm spasms too loud in the silence. Sam starts breathing louder in rhythm of <em>in-and-out in-and-out</em>. Natasha just nods.</p><p> </p><p>“And from my conversation with the Soldier, I think I managed to reconstruct a rough picture of what happened to Captain Rogers.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky doesn’t wanna hear this. He doesn’t want to.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky knows he’s gotta.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky still can’t breathe.</p><p> </p><p>“In and out, Bucky, nice and steady,” says Sam, and he tries so hard. In and out. In and out.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>In and out and in and out and in and out and all around, and maybe if the gods are merciful, we’ll come alive on the other side.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Except they didn’t, did they? They didn’t come out on the other side alive. They came out on the other side broken as <em>fuck</em>, and that is a fucking amazing achievement because they started as an asthmatic troublemaker with a moral compass sharp enough to shame the fucking Pope and his useless, dock-working best friend in fucking Brooklyn in the fucking dreadful Roaring Twenties. Well, the only thing roaring then was glaring poverty and every single sort of depression there existed, and here they are a hundred years later and somehow, they’re both worse off than they were in the fucking Great Depression?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>In and out and all around, and maybe he won’t die of pneumonia and I won’t die of a broken heart.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>They both came out of the other side crawling and screaming; into the cold of the Alps and out of the ice of the Atlantic and wasn’t that a fucking prime example of irony? They came out missing fundamental parts of themselves - Bucky got his fucking arm chopped off and replaced with yet another piece of Stark tech, and Steve got his whole fucking personality carved out by god-fucking-knows what means of torture that Bucky can’t even try to think about; and the worst fucking thing was that they both came out with their hearts still bleeding after seventy fucking years.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>In and out and all around, around the world, around the time, and we come out not knowing who we are.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>They didn’t come out on the other side alive. They came out as ghosts, as wraiths, as shadows of a romanticized time that was exactly as smelly, and as shitty, and as awful as this one was, but this time, they didn’t even have each other to hold on to and push through and search for the inevitable end of the fucking line.</p><p> </p><p><em>When I had nothing, I had Steve</em>, Bucky once told Sam on a river dam.</p><p> </p><p>What he wanted to say was <em>Even when I felt like nothing, I had Steve. And if a man like Steve could look at me and see something worthy, then maybe there was hope still to be found in this world. And if a man like Steve existed, there may still be some beauty and good in this world. </em></p><p> </p><p><em>I don’t mind having a new arm</em>, Bucky once told Clint on the Tower’s roof.</p><p> </p><p>What he wanted to say was <em>My fucking heart got torn out on a train flying through winter snow. I don’t give a fuck about my arm, or how much it hurt, or anything really. I haven’t given a fuck about anything for a long time, but I know he would’ve, so I gotta, because he can’t anymore.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Okay, so. Tell us what you know,” Bucky tells Natasha in a safe house in (REDACTED).</p><p> </p><p>What he wants to say is <em>Please don’t tell me anything, please don’t tell me what happened to him, I don’t wanna know, he’s here, he’s here and he’s alive and that’s enough for me</em>, except that’s not true.</p><p> </p><p>What he wants to say is <em>Please don’t let it be what I think it will be, please let it be better than I am imagining, please don’t let him have suffered much, he can’t have suffered much if he’s here and alive and whole</em>, except that’s not true either.</p><p> </p><p>What he actually wants to say is <em>Please give him back to me, because I don’t want to exist in a world where he doesn’t, not anymore. Please give him back to me, because I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and I will always love him, no matter what happened and what happens.</em></p><p> </p><p>What he wants to say, and doesn’t, because he never could, and why should now be any different, is <em>I love him </em>and <em>I need him </em>and <em>I know him, more than the world, more than breathing, more than myself.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>What he wants to say is <em>Stevie, please come back. I was always my best when I was with you.</em></p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Bucky doesn’t say anything else after telling Natasha to go on, he just sits back down, but Sam knows Bucky, and his voice is wrong.</p><p> </p><p>He snorts internally. What <em>isn’t </em>wrong in this situation, for fucks' sake.</p><p> </p><p>Sam’s been watching them all ever since they were at the door of the safe house and Natasha and Bucky both tensed, looked at each other for a second, and then dropped the grocery bags silently on the ground and simultaneously pulled out guns from Sam doesn’t know where, and he ain’t gonna ask, because some things he’s better off not knowing. They busted the door, and there stood a fucking statue.</p><p> </p><p>Mind you, the statue looked a lot like Steve Rogers, a.k.a. the OG Captain America. Or, as Sam preferred to call him in his head, the Cause of Bucky’s Patented Down-In-The-Dumps-Heartsick-Kicked-Puppy Look. Sam couldn’t stand that look, because it made him wanna punch something, and punch it hard, and Sam was, by nature, a pacifist.</p><p> </p><p><em>Riley would have laughed so hard if he heard me saying tha</em>t, Sam thinks and resists the urge to sigh. If Riley were here, he would have known what to do. He would have known what to say, because even though he was a class-a <em>jerk</em>, Riley always knew what to say to make people feel better. And yes, Sam is a VA counselor, and he is very good at his job, thank you very much, but this is-- too close. And too personal, in a way that PTSD and sensory overloads somehow aren’t, and Sam has no idea what to say, hasn’t known what to say since Steve Fucking Rogers offered Bucky a piece of metal without even a hint of an expression on his face.</p><p> </p><p>So Sam said nothing, and just watched as Bucky came a hair-breadth away from a complete mental breakdown no less than six times in the past half hour, as Natasha tried extremely hard not to twitch uncomfortably and curb her instinct to go for the probably absurd amount of knives he just <em>knows </em>she is concealing somewhere on her tiny scary person, and as Winter Soldier a.k.a. The Guy Who Tore Out Both His Steering Wheel And His Wing With His Bare Hand a.k.a. Steven Rogers The Original Captain America never moved more than six feet away from Bucky while looking like a badly beaten ghost.</p><p> </p><p>And the thing is, Sam is aware that the Winter Soldier is a threat. He is aware that the guy is insanely strong and definitely also just <em>insane </em>on account of some seventy years of brainwashing. Sam is aware that, if the Soldier decided to attack, they would probably be very dead very quickly. Or seriously maimed, because Sam knows Bucky wouldn’t fight Steve if he could help it, and Sam is a squishy human currently without his wings, so Natasha may be the only one to actually pose some threat to the Soldier, who would still probably go through them like a knife through butter with, and oh the peak of irony, his own fucking knives. Sam knows this to be a fact, and yet he does nothing, because--</p><p> </p><p><em>Shit, this is getting better and better with every second, huh? Let’s dig up </em>all<em> the ghosts, why not.</em></p><p> </p><p>The only person who would know the biggest reason why Sam does nothing is Riley, and Riley is not here, but Sam remembers. He remembers that lackadaisical smile and Riley laughing, <em>Sure, Sammy, I’ll be Bucky to your Cap, hey, don’t hit me asshole, I’m serious</em>. Sam remembers feeling invincible as he confessed to his blushing, adolescent idolatry of Steve Rogers that somehow never left him even when he left adolescence far behind. He remembers the warmth that enveloped him when Riley said<em> It makes perfect sense, Sammy. You’re noble, and you’re brave, and you have a moral compass that points straight to the ‘Right Thing’, and I admire and love you for that. Also for your ultimately sexy body</em>, and then they were both laughing, but that feeling of pride never quite left him.</p><p> </p><p>Riley knew him better than anyone, and he would know why Sam couldn’t bring himself to attack or react in any way really. Because Sam knew, ever since he was little, that he wanted to help people, and he knew how hard it was going to be, but he still fought tooth and nail to be able to. He pushed himself through school, and he pushed himself through military training, and he pushed himself so hard that he was offered a spot in the Falcon Project. And Sam was proud of himself for all of it, but he was most proud when he could save someone. That’s why he went into VA after Riley died and his military days were over. Because to help, even a little, even just one person, was what Sam felt in his bones he was born to do.</p><p> </p><p><em>Just like Captain America</em>, people used to say to him. <em>Just like Steve Rogers</em>, Riley used to tell him. Because he was the only one who understood.</p><p> </p><p>Steve Rogers was just a man who wanted to do the right thing,<em> just like you Sammy, even when it hurts you</em>. Captain America was a symbol. <em>Anybody could be Captain America</em>, Riley used to say, and how he would laugh to know he was right, the asshole. When they dug up Captain America from the ice and out came Bucky Barnes, Sam laughed so hard he pushed himself into a panic attack. <em>How you would’ve loved this</em>, he thought then. <em>How you would’ve laughed, you asshole, you fucking dumbass, I hope you’re laughing in the afterlife. I hope you met Steve Rogers in the afterlife and you both are laughing, I hope you made friends with him and I hope you make him laugh, ‘cuz I can’t even </em>laugh<em> properly without you, you asshole, </em>he thought then.</p><p> </p><p>So Riley would understand the biggest reason Sam doesn’t do anything, and would’ve teased him mercilessly, calling Sam out on his crush. <em>You like them tall and blond and built, huh Sammy?</em>, he would say, and flash that perfect mid-western grin of his that always tore at Sam’s heart. But he wouldn’t know the main reason Sam is silent, because, how could he? Riley is dead and Riley <em>is </em>that reason. Because Sam knows, if Riley appeared before him at any point in time, broken and beaten, brainwashed, dirty and expressionless, Sam wouldn’t even fucking care - he’d launch himself right into the dumbass’ arms and hug the life out of him, and he wouldn’t let go ever again.</p><p> </p><p>Sam knows he’s a decent person. His Momma raised him right, and he made sure to uphold the basic morality he was taught and only add onto that foundation while navigating this shitty world. He knows he is kind, and a good person. Sam knows all this, and yet he still hates himself a little, because he is jealous that Bucky got Steve back, and Riley is still dead.</p><p> </p><p>And it’s awful, he knows it’s awful, he knows it’s not fair, not to Bucky, not to Steve, not to Riley or himself, he knows it’s bad, but he doesn’t really care about that either. Somewhere deep in his soul there’s a pain that will never be gone, only perhaps lessened, and he knows enough psychology not to beat himself up too much over the pang of jealousy he feels watching Bucky and Steve. He knows it’s not malicious, nor would he ever say anything about it to Bucky because there’s nothing to say, and he’s happy for Bucky, he really is, but he also knows that the first thing he felt when Rogers’ mask fell off after the fight on the highway was a blinding surge of irrational hope that, if Rogers is back, maybe Riley could come back too.</p><p> </p><p>Samuel Wilson is no fool. He knows now, as he knew then, that Riley wasn’t-- isn’t coming back. He wasn’t a super soldier, he was just a regular, ordinary human, like Sam is, and he was shot down by a random RPG in front of Sam, and Sam could do nothing to help him. Sam could do nothing as Riley’s life left his body, he only watched, and he knew that his death was final, because he was just an ordinary guy with no super-powers who had the bad luck to be shot down by some fucking assholes while he was trying to save lives. Sam Wilson knows all of this.</p><p> </p><p>It’s still not <em>fair</em>.</p><p> </p><p>So Sam does nothing, except murmuring “In and out, Bucky, that’s it,” in a constant, mechanical rhythm while Bucky tries to keep a hold of himself as Steve Fucking Rogers sits across from them like he hadn’t been magically resurrected a week or so ago. Like he hadn’t turned everybody’s life upside down. Like nothing is wrong, but Sam is being unfair, because yes, everything is wrong, but what he had to have been through, what Natasha is about to tell them…</p><p> </p><p>Sam knows it’s gonna be horrifying, and nasty. He knows it’s gonna be fucked up, he’s not a fool, he knows. But he also knows he’s gonna stay, and listen, and not think about anything except how to help Bucky get through it. Because that’s what friends-- that’s what <em>wingmen</em> do. And Sam may have lost his wingman irreversibly, and oh God how that thought <em>hurts</em>, but Bucky’s is sitting right across from Sam, and Sam is a good wingman, because Sam learned from the absolute <em>best</em>.</p><p> </p><p><em>I miss you Riley, you fucking dumbass</em>, Sam thinks, moving closer to Bucky as he lifts his gaze, and it falls on Rogers.</p><p> </p><p>Rogers doesn’t move per se. His body somehow shifts into an even more rigid stance, and the light in the room is low but Sam still sees the danger in that movement as he fixes Sam with that creepy, unblinking stare.</p><p> </p><p>Sam thinks this must feel like someone walking over your grave, because that’s not Steve Rogers looking at him. That is pure Winter Soldier, the killing machine that tore out Sam’s steering wheel with his bare fucking hands, and Sam thinks <em>Oh shit</em> and swallows around the lump in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>But Sam is a VA counselor, and a very good one, and he is even better at reading people. He thinks he knows what this is about, and <em>holy shit</em>, but he keeps his eyes on the Soldier as he experimentally moves a fraction away from Bucky.</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier relaxes. Sam’s eyes widen. Natasha shifts in her chair. Bucky doesn’t even notice.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha turns to Rogers, and Sam really needs to figure out what to call the dude, because calling him Steve is presumptuous, calling him Rogers somehow fits, but the mand told them to call him the Soldier, which sounds fucking awful to Sam, but hey, establishing free will is extremely important for POW’s with trauma, so Sam acquiesces to calling him that, even though he’s really not sure that’s the best idea.</p><p> </p><p>“If I am wrong at any point, please correct me,” she says, and waits. The Soldier doesn’t do anything that Sam can see, he doesn’t even <em>move</em>, but Natasha obviously gets some feedback from God-knows-where, because she nods and turns back to Bucky, and honestly fuck these stealth operatives, Sam is a pretty observant guy but this is ridiculous.</p><p> </p><p>“After his fall from the train, Captain Rogers was found by HYDRA operatives and taken hostage. They finally got their super-soldier, the original one at that, and they spent the next, by my estimate, couple of decades at least, possibly more, brainwashing and torturing him into complacency, until they could turn him into a weapon for their goals.”</p><p> </p><p>“What does that mean,” the words tear from Bucky in a whisper that tears at Sam’s heart. Natasha’s voice is steady, a little <em>too</em> steady, which is the only thing that tells Sam that her unflappable poise is an act of some sorts. Probably.</p><p> </p><p>Sam catches himself mentally, and frowns. He’s being unfair to her, and his Momma raised him better than that. Still, it’s somewhat difficult for Sam to trust Natasha. There is something about her that rubs him wrong. Natasha is like a teacup that doesn’t really fit into its designated tea saucer - too small, or too big for it to really, actually fit. She is too good at what she does, too careful with how she moves and speaks, for Sam to be comfortable with her. Whenever he’s close to her, all of his instincts scream <em>Predator!</em> at him, and Sam survived the desert by trusting his instincts.</p><p> </p><p>He knows she is trying. He knows without a doubt that she may be even a bigger threat than the Soldier is, but he also knows that she cares about Bucky in some weird, Russian-assassin kinda way, so he’s really trying to be more trusting towards her. Hell, he already held hands with her. She didn’t break his fingers when he squeezed her hand, and that was more than he expected. He’s trying, but it’s been a really trying week, and he’s just so fucking tired.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know the details of the recalibration procedures,” she says, and her voice is calm, “But if it’s anything like what I went through at the KGB’s Red Room, I would imagine the standard torture procedures were applied, but in a much higher intensity, on account of Captain Rogers’ enhancements.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s like listening to a report, with all the pretty euphemisms, and Sam wants to snort, because why not call a fuckery a fuckery, but then he realizes what she said, and he could kick himself for being an asshole. His Momma would’ve kicked him, and kicked him <em>hard</em>. <em>KGB</em>, she said, and her voice turned to ice then as Sam’s blood did now, because he knows the stories, everyone knows the stories, but Sam probably knows more than most, and if even a third of those were true…</p><p> </p><p>He finds himself thankful that she decided to skirt around the details. He spares a glance at Bucky, who looks deathly pale and horrified.</p><p> </p><p><em>He knows</em>, Sam thinks. <em>He knows at least something of what she went through, </em>and Sam wonders if he’s gonna have to continue his chant of <em>in and out</em> as Bucky’s metal arm calibrates randomly and his flesh one shakes incontrollably.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s eyes are on the Soldier again, and Sam would give anything in this world not to see that expression on Bucky’s face. It’s intimately familiar to Sam. He spent the first two years after his return seeing it in the mirror every single morning. It still appears occasionally, though never taking him by surprise.</p><p> </p><p><em>Shit,</em> Sam thinks, and takes a deep breath. Natasha apparently deems Bucky well enough to continue, or she knows it’s a losing battle. Nothing can lessen Bucky’s pain.</p><p> </p><p>“HYDRA spent decades modelling their perfect weapon, and when they deemed him good enough for use, they used him for, well, everything. Assassinations, inciting civil and military conflicts, basically anything that helped them destabilize the world and further their own agenda.” Bucky is shaking in earnest now, and his small puffs of breath are shallow. “As I told you before, he was a ghost, a scary story for the assassin community. Nobody was sure if he really existed, because how is it possible for an assassin to be active for some forty years without getting slow, or old?”</p><p> </p><p>“The answer is two-fold, by my account,” and she’s too good to look at the Soldier then, but Sam sees her posture change. He’s pretty sure that she is the only one in the room that never lost sight of the level of threat he poses, and whatever she has to say next has her on alert for a possible threat. “One, he’s a super-soldier, which means he doesn’t age as fast as normal humans do. And two,” and now Sam is on alert also, “I believe they used to put him into cryostasis every time they didn’t need him.”</p><p> </p><p><em>What the fuck</em>, Sam thinks.</p><p> </p><p>“What the fuck,” Bucky says, but it’s not a question, not really. It’s a growl of incredulity that brings promises of pain for anyone affiliated with HYDRA in the very near future.</p><p> </p><p>“From what I’ve gathered from the SHIELD-HYDRA info-dump, I believe they developed technology that allowed them to put him ‘on ice’, so to speak, and freeze him in cryostasis, so that they could preserve him for when he was needed. It was also easier to ensure that the brainwashing Captain Rogers into a persona devoid of any actual personality, except as an <em>asset </em>to HYDRA, actually sticks.”</p><p> </p><p><em>What the fuck</em>, Sam thinks, as he detachedly notes that his hands are shaking.</p><p> </p><p>“How,” Bucky growls, but he can’t continue. Natasha knows what he’s asking, and when she uncurls from her position in the armchair, Sam knows that the threat level is about to increase, and tenses involuntarily.</p><p> </p><p>“There were blueprints I found when I was digging through the files, of two different types of machines. One was the cryostasis chamber used to preserve him on ice. The other was a torture device that administered electric shocks and chemical injections, whose main purpose, I believe, was to ensure the complete blankness of his mind.”</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier hasn’t moved since Natasha started talking, nor did he make any sound, but now he shuffles in the armchair. The atmosphere in the room is tense, and oppressive, and Sam feels his heart rate slow, like it always does before something bad happens.</p><p> </p><p>“They called it the Chair,” she says, and then faster than he thought possible, she <em>jumps</em> across the fucking table, her Widow Bites visible in her hands <em>and where the fuck did that gun come from oh my fucking God</em>, and stands with the gun pointed at the Soldier in front of Bucky and Sam, who scramble on the couch after a second, because the Soldier is making a noise and Sam thinks <em>Shit, I can’t fight him, I don’t have my wings</em>, but then it registers.</p><p> </p><p>The sound is not menacing. It’s almost a-- it’s almost a <em>whimper</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” the Soldier says, and his eyes are far away. “No, please, not the Chair,” and Sam hears the capitalization in his tone, even though his voice is barely audible, and suddenly he’s really, really scared, because <em>what kind of thing can make the Winter Soldier sound like a scared child</em> is a question he really, really, doesn’t want the answer to.</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier thrusts his hand forward, and Sam could kick himself, because how could he have forgotten that metal thing he was offering Bucky before? Natasha doesn’t lower her gun - in fact, she doesn’t move at all. Sam does feel a bit safer for that fact.</p><p> </p><p>“I brought you the collar,” the Soldier says to Bucky, who is blinking rapidly and looking alarmingly more distressed with every second that passes.</p><p> </p><p>“The gun, Nat, what,” Bucky starts to say something, but Natasha interrupts him, without once taking her eyes off the Soldier.</p><p> </p><p>“James, that is the bracelet I took from Pierce's body when everything went down in DC. I didn’t tell you about it, because I believed it was an artefact of Asgardian origin, and I wanted to check what it was with Thor before I mentioned it to you. I left it with my stuff in my room, but the Soldier must’ve found it while we were away.”</p><p> </p><p>Sam has a moment of incredulity, because she’s talking about speaking with a Norse God like he talks about calling his sister or something, but then the incredulity turns into apprehension. He forgot about Soldier finding them in a safe house that Natasha swore up and down nobody knew about, and shit, if he found them, then HYDRA could’ve found them too. What if there’s a team just waiting for them to be sufficiently lulled into complacency, and then bam - bye-bye freedom, bye-bye life?</p><p> </p><p>“Who knows you’re here?” He tries to make his voice calm, but he’s not sure he succeeds.</p><p> </p><p>“Nobody,” the Soldier says, and Sam hates how fucking empty his voice sounds. “Procedure after mission - go back to base. Wait for handlers to collect you. Handlers did not come. Logical conclusion - go to handlers.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha twitches before them, but still holds the gun steadily pointed at the Soldier’s head. Sam spares a glance for Bucky when his breath hitches.</p><p> </p><p>“Stevie,” he begs. “Why are you here?”</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier cocks his head, as if not understanding the question. His eyes are vibrant blue and glued to Bucky. <em>Oh man</em>, Sam thinks. <em>This is just getting better and better, ain’t it.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Mission objective - find the handlers.” The Soldier repeats. He still hasn’t lowered his arm, and Sam would be jealous of his stamina and discipline, if he didn’t know at what price it probably came. <em>Shit, shit, shit.</em> “Mission objective accomplished.”</p><p> </p><p>“Steve,” Bucky says, and his voice is much calmer. Sam is definitely sure that’s not a good thing. “Why do you-- what--,” he starts and then shakes his head. “Why did you come to me?”</p><p> </p><p>The room is silent for a moment, and then the Soldier lowers his hand and puts the bracelet in his pocket as he repeats, “Mission objective. Find the handler. Handler found. Mission objective accomplished.” He drags the top of his dirty hoodie down, and low around his neck, alongside some discoloration and bruises, lies a necklace that in the low lighting and to Sam’s eyes looks like it could be a match to the bracelet. <em>No</em>, Sam thinks, <em>not a necklace. A matching </em>collar.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky catches up quickly and his arm starts whirring wildly, so Sam pushes down the sick feeling in his stomach. “Hey, Bucky, buddy, calm down,” he says, and takes a step closer to him and carefully lays his hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder, prepared to go through more breathing exercises to help Bucky not lose control over himself, as much as any of them have any control over anything in this moment.</p><p> </p><p><em>Except Natasha</em>, Sam realizes. There’s no doubt in his mind she connected the dots the moment she saw the bracelet in Soldier’s palm and she probably expected something like this to happen after their conversation in Russian. She’s still pointing the gun straight at the Soldier, who seems keen on ignoring her in favor of staring creepily at Bucky without blinking. Or maybe blinking at a superhuman speed that Sam, The Ordinary One of their group, can’t even dream to catch up to.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do her arms hurt, or is the ability to hold a gun straight for at least like, an hour, a prerequisite for being accepted into the Club of Good Assassins?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sam knows he’s turning hysterical, but he pushes his imminent breakdown away as he tries to breathe loud enough for Bucky to catch and mimic his breathing pattern. He spares a quick look at the Soldier, who is fixated on Bucky. Or more accurately, on Sam’s hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It’s not a nice look. <em>Steve Rogers really only has eyes for Bucky Barnes, huh</em>, he thinks, and doubles his efforts not to laugh. He can’t afford to fall apart now, and Rogers will have to suck up his jealousy, because Bucky is radiating distress like a fucking beacon, and he need any grounding if he’s to push through this conversation.</p><p> </p><p>“You think I’m your handler,” Bucky states through clenched teeth. “You came to me… you tracked me down here in the middle of nowhere, after dragging me from the bottom of the Potomac, because you think. I’m your handler.”</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier nods. “Mission objective - accomplished.”</p><p> </p><p>Bucky lets out a whimper and covers his face with his hands. He still isn’t looking at the Soldier, and he’s mimicking Sam’s breathing now, ragged and wild. Sam is torn between looking at Natasha for clues on how to act, because Bucky is a lost cause when it comes to objectivity about Steve Rogers, which surprises absolutely no one, and these are some pretty triggering topics they’re discussing, and the Soldier. He knows he can’t read the Soldier - he has no previous baseline to compare his reactions to, like Bucky and Natasha do.</p><p> </p><p>Sam’s not sure either of their baselines would be completely useful when dealing with the Soldier. Natasha sees a brainwashed assassin and a shell of a person, an asset, just like she is. Was. Has been, for her whole life, and shit that’s a depressing thought. Bucky looks at a six-foot killing machine and sees only Steve Rogers, his friend and Lord knows what else, and Sam isn’t going there, not <em>ever </em>if he can help it, and an echo of the past, a man he used to know and a man for whose return he probably prayed as fervently and as uselessly as Sam did for Riley.</p><p> </p><p>Neither of them really see who the person before them is now. Because that’s not just a HYDRA asset, nor is it Bucky’s Steve. The man before them is something else, something other. The man before them is traumatized to the highest degree, unsure of reality, unsure of who he is, and who he was, and is grasping at straws of logic that probably stems from a combination of both those people he is, and used to be. The man before them is a man like any of the other men and women Sam is trained to help, only his issues are probably multiplied by a degree of a thousand or so. The man before them is a prisoner of war, and a traumatized war veteran.</p><p> </p><p>Sam Wilson a good counselor, and proud of it. He is. He just lowkey really hates that fact right now. <em>C’mon Sammy, this is what you trained for. Helping traumatized soldiers come home. You can do this.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Hey Natasha,” he says conversationally, and hopes he doesn’t get killed by anyone in the room in the next couple of minutes, because that would be a real bummer. “How about we relax a little, can you put your gun down maybe?” He asks in his most reasonable voice. Natasha’s eyes flicker to meet his, and her gaze is the black gaze of the Widow, not the look of his ally Natasha. He tries to convey the feeling of ‘I know what I’m doing, trust me’ to her with his eyes. “I don’t think anyone here wants to harm anyone else in the room,” he says calmly, and she must see something in him that placates her, because she lowers her gun. She doesn’t take her finger off the trigger, but hell, Sam’ll take it. Baby steps.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey man,” he continues speaking in his most professional voice as he turns left, because he can’t bring himself to call his fucking <em>childhood idol</em> something as impersonal as The Soldier out loud, “My name is Sam. Could you explain to us why you think, uh, Bucky here is your handler?” He turns all his attention to the Soldier as he removes his hand from Bucky’s shoulder and adopts his most professional Counselor Face. “It would be easier for us to understand what you need, or want, if you explain it to us.” He tries to smile. “Less chances of misunderstandings that way.” He’s pretty sure he fails.</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier is seizing him up the whole time, and his face makes a movement that Sam’s pretty sure means he’s just been dismissed as a threat, which would be insulting, if it wasn’t so depressingly true.</p><p> </p><p>“I know your name,” the Soldier says, and <em>wow that’s creepy</em>. “Samuel Thomas Wilson, codename Falcon. Former Air Force pararescue. Current occupation: Veteran Affairs counselor. Threat--- former threat level Delta.” Sam really wants to ask what his threat level is now, but the Soldier is hesitating, and Sam doesn’t want to interrupt whatever he’s searching for as his eyes flit to Bucky and back with inhuman speed. “Not a target,” he says, and Sam nods, ignoring the relief that fills him at that concession on the Soldier's part.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, that’s good. Nice to meet you,” and the smile he attempts is almost real this time. “Do you know the rest of the people in the room, too?” The Soldier considers him for a moment, and Sam keeps his hands before him and his face relaxed. <em>C’mon, man, throw me a bone here.</em></p><p> </p><p>The Soldier turns to Natasha, whose finger hasn’t moved from the trigger. “Natalia Alianova Romanova, codename Black Widow. Former KGB. Former freelance assassin. SHIELD special operative. Threat level Beta. Former target,” he rattles off, and again, Sam knows he’s in league with some very dangerous people, but still. Hearing it laid out like that, he feels his heart skip a beat for some reason. <em>You like how dangerous she is, don’t you Sammy, </em>he imagines Riley’s laughter, but now is really not the time to contemplate any of Sam’s pathologies. He’ll contemplate them exactly never, if he gets his way.</p><p> </p><p>“Former SHIELD,” Natasha looks amused, and she smiles at the Soldier. It’s not a nice smile on account of too many teeth showing, but he just nods, and then looks at Bucky. Sam turns a bit to look at him too, and then really wishes he hadn’t, because the raw hope in Bucky’s eyes is fucking heartbreaking. Sam won’t cry now, but as soon as he’s alone, fuck it. Just, fuck it. It’s gonna be raining fucking waterfalls, because that much misery and anguish is way too much to witness, much less to bear. He’s also hugging Bucky the moment they’re out of Soldier’s line of sight. Sam likes his limbs attached, thank you very much.</p><p> </p><p>“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes,” the Soldier says, and Sam knows he isn’t imagining the slight waver in his voice when he spots Natasha moving in his peripheral vision. As long as she doesn’t shoot, they’re good. “Codename Captain America,” and yeah, there’s definitely some emotion there. “Former United States Army. Former Howling Commandos Sniper,” and Bucky chokes on a whimper. “Former,” he looks at Natasha briefly, “SHIELD operative. Threat level Alpha. Fr--,” the Soldier’s voice cuts off before he finishes. He pauses, confused, and he turns those lost baby-blue puppy fucking eyes on Sam, and <em>oh fucking hell</em>, Sam really isn’t equipped to deal with this.</p><p> </p><p>“Good, yeah man, that’s good. What were you going to say?” He asks. The Soldier still looks confused, so Sam decides to fuck the counselor manual, and help him a bit. “Is Bucky, uh, is Sergeant Barnes still a target?” He asks, because that is important to know.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” the Soldier frowns. “Not a target. Former target.” He looks at Bucky again. “Former. From before. First handler. From before,” he repeats, and shit, Sam’s never been a prodigy at languages, but he knows fucking <em>Brooklyn</em> accent when he hears it. He knows without looking at him that Bucky will be fixating on this with all the desperation of a drowning man, but they can’t afford to get distracted now, when they’re finally getting some solid info.</p><p> </p><p>“You think Bucky is your handler, because you know him from before,” Sam states, with only a slight upward tilt at the end, to avoid posing it as a question if the Soldier doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t ask ‘before what’, because Sam is a fucking great counselor, and he can infer that the man before him has a complicated relationship with time. The Soldier’s eyes are nervously flitting between all of them now, and Sam really, really doesn’t want to spook, or provoke him. He finally nods, and Sam echoes the nod. “Okay, good. Could you maybe elaborate how you know that?”</p><p> </p><p>“The museum,” comes the answer. “There were. Pictures. And reels. And writings. A man wearing my face was wearing his uniform, and a man with his face was laughing at the Asset. An Asset has no face, no name, no opinions,” Soldier states, and fuck everyone and their moral compass’ because Sam has a feeling he will be joining Bucky at kicking some HYDRA ass with extreme prejudice. “He was there, with the Asset. Conclusion: he was the first handler,” Soldier concludes, and Sam really wants to be anywhere but here and now, but he knows he has to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you the asset?” The Soldier looks at him like he’s stupid then and Sam would laugh if he weren’t scared and fucking sad, and nods. Sam knows he needs to summarize all this quickly, so they’re all on the same page, before something (<em>Bucky</em>) explodes or someone (<em>Natasha</em>) starts shooting, either of which would be a very bad thing.</p><p> </p><p>“So, you saw Sergeant Barnes in pictures with yourself, or the, uh, asset, and you concluded he was your handler.” A nod. “And you tracked him down, and you want to give him, uh, the collar, because that’s what handlers use to control yo-- the asset,” Sam grits out, and wants to throw up the moment the Soldier nods. <em>Fuck HYDRA, fuck everything, god-fucking-dammit</em>, he thinks.</p><p> </p><p>“When the Asset obeys the mission parameters and protocols, there is no Chair,” the Soldier says calmly, and apparently that’s the straw that breaks the remaining tatters of Bucky’s self-control.</p><p> </p><p>“Enough!” He yells, his breathing too close to hyperventilation for Sam’s comfort. His eyes are wild, the grey surrounded by red, as if it’s only his superhuman factor that is preventing him from crying. “Alright,” he croaks. “Alright.” His body is wracked by irregular tremors, and Sam’s got no idea how to calm him, nor if it’s actually possible to calm him at all.</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t put the bracelet on, James,” Natasha remarks in a neutral tone, but her tone carries the weight of an order. “We don’t know what would happen. We don’t know the consequences of meddling with an alien artefact that HYDRA probably tampered with,” and yeah, Sam definitely agrees with her, and definitely thinks she’s the only one in the room with a fully functional brain, even though she’s the one recovering from a concussion, and <em>shit, I need to check on her concussion ASAP</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Bucky’s looking at her now with narrowed eyes barely constraining the rage and the pain, and <em>shit again</em>, because Sam knows what he’s thinking. If it were Riley, Sam would be thinking the same thing.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Anything he needs. Anything he asks. Anything he wants. I’d give him anything.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sam doesn’t know how to break this impasse, because he doesn’t want to be a hypocrite, and he doesn’t want to hurt Bucky more than he’s obviously hurting. Thankfully, Natasha doesn’t mind fighting dirty.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t know what the backlash could be for Steve,” she says meaningfully without changing her inflection once, and it’s the first time she’s used that name, and oh, she’s <em>good</em>. Sam is suddenly viscerally glad she’s on their side, because he can see Bucky hadn’t really thought of that, and neither did Sam, as emotionally compromised as they both are. Bucky looks betrayed for a moment, but then he swallows heavily and lowers his head a bit, a concession if Sam ever saw one. Natasha doesn’t gloat, she just nods at Bucky.</p><p> </p><p>“I will get in touch with Thor as soon- I will call some people now,” she amends quicky, when Bucky looks at her sharply. “We’ll get in touch with Thor or someone else on Asgard, and gather information about these artefacts, so we know what we’re dealing with. Then we’ll decide what to do, alright?”</p><p> </p><p>They are still caught in a stare off that’s more of a silent conversation really, and Sam is suddenly struck with how little he knows both of them, and how deeply he trusts them despite that. He has friends, of course he does, but he hasn’t trusted anyone like this since Riley, not really. There was something in both of them that spoke to some darker part of himself, that recognized kindred spirits when they appeared, bloody and dirty, on his doorstep on a random day around a week ago. There was something in Bucky and Natasha that Sam felt a kinship with, that made him abandon his carefully constructed, satisfying, calm life and go sabotage and destroy an international spy agency after knowing Bucky for a couple of days, and Natasha not at all. Whatever it was, it brought him here, to a cabin in the woods, standing in a room with three of World’s Most Wanted for various reasons, and the only thing he felt was relief, and acceptance, and a powerful sense of rightness.</p><p> </p><p><em>You like dangerous and insane, Sammy, because you’re dangerous and a bit crazy too – you jumped at the chance to fly fucking wings into war-zones, for Christ’s sake</em>, Riley in his head laughs, and it sounds like the bells his Nana used to hang on their back porch; it feels like home. <em>But what you are the most is </em>good<em>, and so are they. All of them are good, Sammy, and you know it, and you’ll try to help, because that’s the kind of person you are, and I love you for it.</em></p><p> </p><p>Sam can’t wait to be alone, so he could indulge in a very long, very cathartic cry. Perhaps later in the shower.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha and Bucky obviously reach a consensus when they break their expressionless stare-off and Bucky zeroes in on the Soldier immediately. His eyes track his whole body, and narrow when he reaches the Soldier’s neck and a ring or bruises above that copper collar that Sam really doesn’t want to think about.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re staying here?” Bucky asks, and his voice is full of incredulous hope and subdued agony. Sam is calling dibs on shower. The Soldier nods again, this time slowly. “Then I need to check you for injuries while Nat contacts Thor,” Bucky says. Soldier doesn’t object, but Natasha does.</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t be alone with him,” she argues quickly. “We don’t know what--”</p><p> </p><p>“He said I wasn’t a target, Nat,” Bucky interrupts her. “He thinks I’m his fucking <em>handler</em> so he ain’t gonna attack me, because that means, well, you know what that means, don’t you,” he barks a laugh that’s the furthest thing from joyful there is, and Natasha stops moving. Bucky rubs his forehead. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that was shitty of me,” he says more gently, and Natasha raises her chin a little. “I have a metal arm, Nat, and I will use it if I have to.” He pauses. “I promise,” he says, and the pain in his voice is a measure of his sincerity.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha contemplates this, as still as a statue, and Sam admires the amount of control she has over her body. He refuses to contemplate how she acquired that control, because his crying-in-the-shower time promises to be too long already. Natasha glares at Bucky before she capitulates.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t break your promise, Barnes. I don’t want to be angry with you,” she says, and then turns and barks something at the Soldier in Russian, pointedly holding her gun so it’s visible. He looks lost again for a moment, but then he nods, and Sam is just. Tired of everything. Of not understanding at all, of understanding too well, of the emotional toll this whole thing is having on him.</p><p> </p><p>“The first aid kit is in my room, Bucky,” Sam says. “If you need me, I’ll be outside with Natasha speed-dialing a Norse God.” He tries to smile at the Soldier. “That goes for you too, man. If you need anything, just yell.” The Soldier looks confused, but then slowly inclines his head down. Fuck it. Sam’ll take it.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha hesitates once more visibly. “Nat,” Bucky speaks low. “We all need a minute to breathe. I’ll be fine. Please call Thor,” he pleads, and Sam would swear that’s frustration in her eyes when she nods brusquely and half-turns to leave, never turning her back on the Soldier fully. Sam should probably emulate her, but it’s not like it would make a difference if the Soldier decides to attack.</p><p> </p><p>He slowly follows Natasha out of the house, his eyes fixed firmly at the gun she’s still holding. Outside, the fresh air hits him suddenly, and he inhales a shaking breath. It’s darker outside; twilight crept up to them somehow without Sam noticing, and he would chastise himself for his failure to be observant, but he honestly can’t. There’s a bone-deep exhaustion creeping up to him, and he hopes that the chilly night air will help him clear his head.</p><p> </p><p>Speaking of heads.</p><p> </p><p>“Natasha, I need to check--”</p><p> </p><p>“Not yet,” she interrupts him, and leads him further towards the tree line. Sam’s confused for a moment, but then he gets it. She doesn’t want the Soldier to know about any of her weaknesses, so they gotta get out of the super-soldier hearing range. Smart. This just confirms to Sam what he already knew - that Natasha is the only one of them keeping a level head.</p><p> </p><p>It's a good thing for their general, fucked-up situation, having someone who’s not emotionally compromised, who’s alert and aware of the danger all the time. Whether that’s a good thing for <em>her</em> is another thing, but Sam doesn’t think that his kind of therapy would help her any. Hell, if he asks her ‘How do you feel?’, she may just decide to shoot him and leave him in the woods.</p><p> </p><p>They walk the tree line for a couple of minutes, and Sam takes the chance to enjoy the smells of the forest and the feel of a light breeze caressing his skin. He needs a moment to gather his wits and to make sure he doesn’t just start screaming into the air. His body is not used to circulating this much adrenaline and endorphins regularly anymore, and he feels drained, but he can’t rely on Natasha to be the only alert one - it’s not fair, first of all, and second of all, she has a concussion. He gotta pull his own weight, because whatever happens next, Bucky probably won’t be able to pull his.</p><p> </p><p>Unless he gets murdered by his dead ‘best friend’, in which case, Sam should probably try to avenge him. If he doesn’t crash and burn more terribly than the Helicarriers did, they may even let him join the Avengers after.</p><p> </p><p>He snorts at the thought and can’t hold his hysteria in anymore. The laughter bubbles out of him in uneven, sharp gasps, and he stops where he stands and leans against a tree and he laughs so much that tears cloud his vision completely, and the only thing he can see is a blur of red that’s Natasha’s hair.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute or two, wiping the remainder of his tears from his wet cheeks. “All of this hits a bit too close to home, with the whole, uh, Riley situation,” he offers a confession of his own, because he thinks she would appreciate that. He has no doubt she guessed what Riley meant to him; she knew about Khalid Kandil mission, and Bucky asked about Riley then, and Natasha was the furthest away from stupid a person could be. She observes him silently for a moment more, and then smiles briefly without showing any teeth. It’s probably a fake smile. Fuck it. Sam’ll take it. “We can talk freely now,” she says, not unkindly. The gun, he notes, is nowhere to be seen.</p><p> </p><p>“How’s your head?” She shrugs. “Headache, a bout of dizziness when I jumped the table.” He rolls his eyes before he can help himself, but she just grins. “Nothing I didn’t expect, and nothing that would stop me from shooting anyone who deserved it.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s fair,” Sam acquiesces, because what the fuck is he supposed to say to a special operative that’s been trained by the KGB? ‘Don’t overdo it’? She’d probably laugh at him. Hell, he’d laugh at himself right now, if he weren’t sure it’s just gonna end in another bout of hysteria, which they really can’t afford right now.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Sam starts, but then doesn’t know what to ask first. Does he ask about her and how she’s feeling? Or about Bucky? About the Soldier? About Thor? About her talk with the Soldier? About the fucking meaning of life? Things are too fucked up on too many levels, and he’s emotionally compromised and drained, and he has no idea what to think. He leans a bit more steadily on the tree and sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you think?” is what he settles on. It’s too vague, though he doesn’t backtrack. She’ll tell him what she wants to tell him anyways, and nothing he could say would persuade her to reveal more than she wants him to know. She doesn’t answer right away, so he contents himself with observing her and inhaling the fresh, damp air around them.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha stands before him with her back to the house. Her face is impassive, and beautifully framed with her wine-dark curls, and he can’t look at her for too long. She makes him nervous for some reason, so he lets his eyes wander. They zero in on her necklace. It’s a tiny silver arrow, and he knows he noticed it once before; on the highway, while they were driving. The light caught it and he saw it in the mirror, but he had forgotten about it when the Soldier attacked them.</p><p> </p><p>He remembers her clutching it in the secret cave during their meeting with Fury, when Bucky said ‘We’re not salvaging anything’. He remembers her walking away holding a phone afterwards. Sam’s eyes widen as remembers the Avengers then, and the one they called Hawkeye. He remembers watching the footage of New York and a guy shooting the aliens with just his arrows, and never missing once. His head jerks upwards and Natasha’s emerald eyes capture his, and the smile on her pale lips is a bit crooked and a bit sad, and he thinks that even if she’s the not actually emotionally compromised, she still understands, and more importantly, doesn’t judge them on their weakness.</p><p> </p><p>“I think,” she says carefully, “James sees what he wants to see, and not what’s there.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you?” She cocks her head at his careful tone.</p><p> </p><p>“I might,” she allows. “But I’m preparing for the worst. James is only foolishly hoping for the best.”</p><p> </p><p>“They do say love is foolish,” Sam chuckles. Her eyes are sparkling with mirth and the smile on her lips is definitely genuine. “You saw that too,” she replies. “I think a blind person would’ve seen it,” he mutters, and they commiserate in silent exasperation for the next couple of seconds.</p><p> </p><p>“If it were Riley,” he tries to say, but his voice breaks. He clears his throat before trying again. “If it were Riley,” but the words don’t come. Natasha’s hand raises and she gently clutches her necklace. “I know,” she says softly, and that’s enough.</p><p> </p><p>The woods behind them are full of sounds, but Sam only hears their breathing, combining and evening out in tandem. The world is peaceful in this moment of mutual understanding, and he clutches at it, willing it to last for just a bit more before they gotta deal with alien jewelry and brainwashed super-soldiers.</p><p> </p><p>“So how do we contact Thor?” Sam finally asks, but before Natasha can answer, a great surge of light coming from the direction of the house suddenly blinds him. He yells out in pain as he covers his eyes, and when he finally opens them, he sees Bucky’s bedroom window still shining with a sickly, orange light through his tears. Natasha’s head is turned in backwards; her eyes are wide, and at any other time, Sam would’ve been happy to see her lose that perfect mask of composure, but he arrives at the conclusion only a moment before she does.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s gonna do it,” he whispers, and Natasha doesn’t even bother nodding, she just starts running back towards the house, faster than he thought possible. He curses and runs after her, because he knows as sure as he knows that the sky is blue and that Riley’s dead, that there isn’t a thing in this world that Bucky Barnes can say no to, when it’s Steve Rogers asking.</p><p> </p><p>Sam runs, like he once ran towards Riley’s position in the Middle-Eastern dessert. Sam runs, so he doesn’t need to watch another friend die. Sam runs, but he knows, even though he won’t admit it, that they’re too slow. That he’s too slow. <em>Again</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He hears Natasha yelling Bucky’s name from inside the house, and he almost hits himself on the swinging front door as he runs inside, at her heels. Her voice is reverberating and leading him to her position, but no other sound is forthcoming.</p><p> </p><p>Sam runs through the living room and towards the bedroom and he thinks he might make it, or if he doesn’t, Nat can, she’s faster and definitely stronger than him, when he feels a pressure in his head that’s not a normal headache.</p><p> </p><p><em>Shit, shit, shit, Bucky, man, don’t do it</em>, Sam thinks, but he knows that if it was Riley asking, he would’ve done it too. He knows there’s nothing you don’t do for family. He knows they’re too late.</p><p> </p><p>Sam runs into Bucky’s bedroom just as Natasha yells “James, no!” and the last thing he sees, before an orange blast knocks him out of the room and into the opposite wall, is Bucky’s flesh hand with the bracelet on curling around Steve's palm.</p><p> </p><p><em>You fucking love-sick idiot,</em> Sam thinks, and then it’s dark all around him, and he doesn’t think anything anymore.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I tried to make the Russian translations hover. They wouldn't cooperate. I'll try to fix it, if not, I'll post a list of translations after I get some sleep. (The fact that it's written in Russian is legit only for my own personal geeky linguist indulgence.)</p><p>Chapter 2 coming up in around a week, and the whole thing will be finished by the end of November - I'm currently working on Ch 3 :) </p><p>I really hope you liked this, and any feedback is eagerly awaited and triply appreciated. Let me know what you think, here or on <a href="https://effervescentdragon.tumblr.com/">tumblr.</a> :) Looking forward to hearing from y'all!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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